


Seven Drinks With Derek and Chris

by BroodingSoul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Car Sex, Drunk Sex, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rare Pairings, Top Chris, beard tips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroodingSoul/pseuds/BroodingSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Derek share some drinks, some grief, and some vehicular sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Drinks With Derek and Chris

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr submitted a prompt to wolfprompts.tumblr.com asking for "Chris/Derek - where in they go out for an epic night of drinking and discuss grief beard grooming tips. Eventually the night devolves into a competitive game of darts against a rough bunch of bikers. Naturally a fight breaks out when one of the bikers accuses Chris of cheating. Derek and Chris of course wipe the floor with them and then have angry/frantic sex in the back of Chris's SUV. Because of reasons. Really good angsty sexy reasons." And then I went crazy.

Derek is reading on the staircase in his loft when he hears three sharp raps at the door. He slides it open to find Chris Argent standing there, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a bottle of Jim Beam in the other.

“Wanna drink?” he asks.

Derek narrows his eyes. “Why, is there wolfsbane in it?”

Chris shakes his head. Derek listens to his heart, beating slowly and steadily. He subtly smells the air around Chris—it’s thick with grief. Derek steps aside and sweeps his arm toward the loft.

“Come in.”

***  
 **Drink #1 – Whiskey on the rocks**

“I have better whiskey than…this,” Derek says, pouring two thumbs of Jack Daniels into a highball glass full of ice and handing it to Chris, who takes a gulp.

“That would be great if I wanted to sip it,” he mutters. “I want to get shit-faced.” He finishes the drink, ice tinkling in the now whiskey-less glass. Derek shrugs, pours then fills a highball glass to the brim for himself, twice as much as he poured for Chris. Chris taps his glass, motioning for Derek to pour him another shot.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks. “It takes a lot for me to get drunk. I suggest you not try to match me drink for drink.”

“I suggest you shut the fuck up and pour me another drink,” Chris replies, not unkindly. Derek shrugs and pours the man another two fingers.

“Cheers,” Derek says to Chris. They clink and drink, both men draining their glasses. The JD goes down rough, burning Derek’s throat and filling his stomach with a not-entirely-uncomfortable heat. He settles onto a stool at the table and looks at Chris.

“So,” Derek says. Chris just blinks at him.

Silence.

***  
 **Drink #2 – Whiskey on the rocks**

After about fifteen minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence, Derek reaches for the bottle of Jim Beam and pours another drink for each of them. Chris takes his and sips it this time. Derek follows suit. The air weighs heavy with tension.

Chris takes another sip, then clears his throat.

“Allison’s dead.”

Chris’s voice cracks, and although he cares very little for the man, Derek wishes that he were able to leech emotional pain as well.

“I know,” Derek says quietly. “I’m sorry. She was…good.”

Chris nods and takes another sip. He wipes his thumb across his eyes, coming away with a wet sheen. A thick layer of scruff covers the lower half of his face; he looks like he hasn’t shaved in at least three weeks.

“She was the best,” Chris whispers. He tosses back the rest of his drink, then clears his throat again. Finally looking up and meeting Derek’s eyes, he asks, “Do you have any playing cards?

Derek nods and swallows his drink.

***  
 **Drink #3: Whiskey, neat**

Derek shuffles the cards as Chris pours them another drink.

“Next hand wins,” Derek says. Chris grunts. Derek finishes shuffling, deals, and places the remaining cards between them. He and Chris pick up their hands and begin to re-arrange the cards.

Chris draws first, and the two play out the hand in silence, occasionally taking a pull from their drinks. After a few minutes, Derek picks up the queen of hearts and squints at it, its edges a bit blurry as the drunkenness sets in. He lays the card on the discard pile and Chris quickly snatches it up.

“Shit,” Derek mutters under his breath. He grabs his drink and slugs the rest of it back as Chris fans his cards out on the table and discards one last time.

“Gin!” he declares, almost gleefully..

“No, whiskey,” Derek says, indicating with the empty glass.

Chris levels a steely glaze at Derek, and just as the werewolf is about to apologize for the shitty pun, Chris breaks into a burst of laughter.

“Funny. Stupid, but funny,” he says as his laughter dies down.

Derek just shrugs. “I do what I can. Another game?” He points at the cards laying on the table.

“No,” Chris says, shaking his head. “I feel like playing pool.”

“Can’t help you there,” Derek says, holding up his hands penitently. Chris sighs and climbs off the stool, steadying himself against the table.

“Guess we’re going to the bar, then,” he says, his voice slightly slurring. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and gives them a twirl before tossing them on the table and walking toward the door. “Hope you’re sober,” he calls out over his shoulder, “because I’m too drunk to drive.”

Derek isn’t entirely sober, but he’s also not as drunk as he was a couple of minutes ago. It’s easy for him to get drunk, but his werewolf healing powers make it difficult for him to stay drunk. He’d had a decent buzz going, but it’s quickly wearing off. He makes a fist under the table, out of Chris’s sight, and allows his fingernails to puncture his palms to expedite the healing process. Within seconds he feels clear-headed. He grabs Chris’s keys from the table and heads out of the loft after Chris.

Once in the car, Chris barely allows Derek to turn the key in the ignition before cranking the volume on the stereo. The music that comes out is so loud the Derek can’t pull out a melody, let alone recognize who’s singing. Chris beats out an erratic beat on the dashboard; Derek assumes it’s the beat he drunkenly hears.

“Let’s do this!” Chris shouts, and Derek pulls out of the parking lot.

***  
 **Drink #4: Irish car bombs**

Chris bellies up to the bar and holds up two fingers. “Two Irish car bombs, my good man,” he says to the bartender. He turns back to Derek with a dangerous grin.

“Do you really need a car bomb?” Derek asks. “Or any more alcohol at all, really.” Chris just laughs and shakes his head.

“They’re not for me,” he explains, grinning wickedly. “They’re for you.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What?”

“I’m drunk,” Chris replies. “For me to get through this, I also need you to be drunk, but I’m guessing that your weird little werewolf body cured you, or healed you, or whatever language your kind uses. So, drink up.” He gestures to the two shots the bartender has lined up on the bar.

“Get through what?”

Chris’s face falls just a bit and he runs his hand over the top of his head. Derek is certain he can see the man’s ice blue eyes dull out for a second as Chris just looks at him.

“Derek,” is all Chris says, and Derek understands. He bellies up to the bar, grabs the shot glass full of whiskey and Irish cream, and drops it in the half pint of beer. Before it can curdle, he starts chugging, and doesn’t stop until the shot glass hit his mouth. He slams the pint glass down and, without pausing, repeats the process with the second round. From start to finish, it takes less than twenty seconds.

Derek wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gestures to the bartender. “I’m gonna need two more,” he says, pointing at his empties. The bartender nods and begins to prepare the shots while Chris and Derek stand silent. After a couple of minutes, the bartender brings over two more car bombs and sets them in front of Derek, who slides his credit card across the bar.

“Keep it open,” he says, then gestures to Chris. “For both of us.” The bartender eyes Chris, then looks back at Derek with a smirk before walking away. Derek can feel the blush creep up his neck, suddenly grateful that the bar is so dark.

“Thanks,” Chris says quietly. Derek grunts in reply, then reaches for one of the car bombs and chugs it down. Setting the empty pint down on the bar, Derek rubs his hand over his face. It’s starting to feel numb. He wills the part of him that wants to heal himself away and giggles a bit when it works.

“You’re drunk,” Chris states.

“I am what I am,” Derek answers. “And I am drunk.” He reaches for the final car bomb and is about to drop the shot into the pint when Chris speaks again.

“I miss her. Them. I miss them.”

Derek’s breath catches in his throat. Even without the supernatural senses, he’d be able to feel the grief rolling off of Chris in thick waves. The man sits at the bar, sipping a water, staring straight ahead. To the rest of the bar, he looks like some guy who hanging at the bar with his friend. Only Derek can hear how heavily Chris’s heart beats.

“I know,” Derek says quietly, setting the shot glass back on the bar. “It’s hard.”

Chris hums into his water glass, takes another sip, and sets it down. Derek sees his throat bob up and down a few times and turns away, trying to give Chris some sense of privacy.

Chris’s voice is barely a whisper. “How do you—“

“You don’t,” Derek says, quietly cutting Chris off. Chris’s breath is sharp and quick in his throat, wanting an entirely different answer.

“You don’t,” Derek repeats. “Each day gets a little easier, and a little easier. But you don’t notice that it’s getting easier until you realize a day goes by and you didn’t think about them. And then you feel guilty. And then it starts all over again.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Chris grumbles, his voice gravel. Derek just nods. “Everything reminds me of them,” Chris continues. “No matter what I do. It all reminds me of them.”

“Is that why you’re getting shit-faced with a werewolf?” Derek asks, his voice half-joking.

“You make me think of Kate.”

It feels like a punch to Derek’s gut, but he doesn’t know what he expected. Everything about his and Chris’s family is intertwined and it all started with Kate. She was the onus, the catalyst, the spark. They wouldn’t be sitting at this bar, commiserating in their grief together if it hadn’t been for Kate.

“Why are we here, then?” Derek wonders.

“She started it. I want to end it,” Chris says.

“Okay…” Derek’s eyebrows furrow together.

Chris closes his eyes, nods. “My sister and wife died trying to uphold our family’s legacy. My daughter died trying to change that legacy.”

“Hunting those who hunted us tore us apart. I was proud of my daughter for trying to change what our family believed in.” There’s a hitch in Chris’s breath as he continues, “I don’t have a family anymore. So I’ve added to the code. Nous protégeons ceux qui nous ont protégés.”

Derek turns to look at Chris. “We protect those who have protected us?”

Chris nods and says nothing else. Derek looks forward again and lets the words sink in. After a few moments, he reaches for his shot glass, drops it in the pint, and finishes off the fourth car bomb. Clearing his throat, he climbs off his barstool and briefly claps Chris on the shoulder.

“Pool?” he asks.

“Pool,” Chris confirms.

***  
 **Drink #5: Tequila shots**

“Eight ball in the corner pocket.”

“What are your terms?”

“Loser takes a shot.”

“What does the winner get?”

“Two shots.”

Chris misses the shot.

***  
 **Drink #6: Gin & Tonic with a twist**

“Derrrrrrek, how d’ya keep yer beard from itching?”

“Ca’y’keep a secret?”

“Yes.”

“Mountain Man Beard Oil. S’like $30. So worth it. Feel.”

“S’soft.”

“Chris.”

“Huh?”

“You ca’stop feelin’ it now.”

“Whoops sorry. Darts?”

“Darts.”

***  
 **Drink #7: Water**

“Let’s go wait for the cab.”

Derek and Chris stumble out of the bar, clutching bottle of water and laughing. They’re both comfortably buzzed, feeling good enough to know they might feel bad the next morning. Derek twists the cap off of his water and takes a long pull from the bottle, draining it. He tosses it over his shoulder toward a trashcan, but his aim goes wide and instead, lands in the middle of a group of men Derek could only describe as angry, disgruntled bikers.

“You got a problem, man?” one of them asks, lumbering toward Derek and Chris.

“S’all good,” Derek says, holding his hands up peacefully. “Thought I was throwing it at the trash.”

“What did you call us?” the guy bellows. He rears back a fist and just he throws his punch, Chris steps up, grabs the guy’s fist, and twists.

“Not today,” Chris growls, applying just enough force to drive the man to his knees. Chris lands his own punch just as the man’s three other friends rush into the fray. Acting on instinct, Derek lashes out, feeling a nose break under the palm of his fist. The fight falls into a whirlwind of hands, feet, arms, and legs, leaving Derek and Chris standing over a pile of bruised and bloody bikers.

“Sorry about that,” Chris says, dusting his hands off. “Just lookin’ out for m’friend, y’know?”

“S’no offense,” Derek says. “Have a good night.”

The bikers only groan in response as they get to their feet and walk away. Derek and Chris wait until they’re around the corner before they break into peals of laughter.

“Holy shit, I thought they were going to kick our asses,” Chris says as they walk toward Chris’s SUV.

“Speak for y’self,” Derek replies. “I was just trying to keep from drunkenly wolfing out.” They reach the car and Derek pulls the keys out of his pocket.

“Y’not driving,” Chris instructs. “We called a cab.”

Derek lifts up the back door of the SUV. “I know,” he says. “Just lookin’ for a place to sit until it gets here.” He climbs into the back of the SUV and sits, his feet dangling above the pavement.

“Good idea,” Chris agrees, joining him.

They gently swing their legs back and forth as they sit in silence again, some more, but for the first time it’s comfortable and companionable. Derek isn’t sure if it’s all the alcohol talking, but he’s actually enjoying Chris’s company.

“Chris,” he says, turning to face the older man, and that’s all he can get out before Chris’s mouth crushes against his own. Derek grunts with surprise, not just because Chris is kissing him, but because he’s kissing Chris back. The kiss completely lacks finesse, spurned on by alcohol and blind lust. Chris’s fingers tangle in Derek’s hair and pull tight. Derek gasps as his hair is pulled back and Chris’s mouth find his throat, swathing a hungry trail of bites and nips that cause Derek to shudder with unexpected pleasure.

Chris pushed Derek onto his back in the SUV and straddles his lap, grinding down as he continues making out with Derek. The kiss tastes like fire and desperation and it burns old memories in the back of Derek’s mind, but he pushes them away as he grabs Chris’s ass and pulls it down against his cock, trying to make Argent grind down harder.

Chris pulls away, chuckling, and Derek whimpers, wanting to touch more. His whimper turns to a gasp as Chris unbuckles Derek’s pants and reaches in, fisting Derek’s cock. Pulling it out of the confines of Derek’s pants, Chris bends down and swallows it in one swift motion. Derek’s eyes roll up in the back of his head, and he doesn’t even have time to begin to wonder how Chris is able to deepthroat a cock before Chris starts bobbing up and down, all speed and noisy slurps. It’s all too much too soon and Derek begins to pant.

“I’m gonna--”

Before he can finish, Chris pulls off and applies pressure to the underside of Derek’s cock. Almost instantly, Derek’s urge to cum fades away. He opens his mouth to ask Chris where he learned that trick, but Chris has already climbed back into the SUV with his pants around his ankles. He straddles Derek’s chest, pinning him down, and his dick--thick, fat, and clipped--slaps Derek in the face once, twice, three times.

Derek opens his mouth and begins greedily tonguing Chris’s dick like a dog with a bone. Chris groans and reangles his body, leaning over Derek’s head, giving Derek easier access. Derek wraps his lips around the head of Argent’s dick and Argent begins face-fucking him. Derek just opens his throat and slides his tongue up and down Chris’s dick, coating it with a slick sheen of spit.

Chris suddenly pulls his dick out of Derek’s mouth with a lewd pop and scrambles back out into the parking lot before ripping Derek’s pants off and pulling him to the edge of the SUV. He positions Derek’s legs on his shoulders and places the head of his dick against Derek’s hole. Suddenly he stops.

“Derek?” he asks.

“Yes. Please, yes.”

Derek’s hands grip the edge of the SUV’s floor as Chris lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth to Derek’s ass. Smearing the spit around with his dick, Chris positions himself in place and slowly begins to push in. Derek hisses a bit, pushing out, and then Chris is inside him. Chris gives him a second to adjust to the feeling, then flexes his dick. Derek gasps at the pressure as Chris grins wickedly, before he begins pistoning himself in and out of Derek’s ass. Gasps, grunts, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fill the SVU.

Ten pumps. Ten pumps of graceless friction against his prostate is all it takes for Derek to cum. He grabs himself as hot, white stripes shoot out of his cock and across his shirt, hitting his chin. The spasms of his orgasm around Chris’s dick send the hunter over the edge, and he buries himself full-hilt with a roar, filling Derek’s ass. Chris collapses onto Derek, breathing heavily.

Derek’s head is still thrown back, his eyes closed. A few seconds pass, and Derek begins to laugh. Soon Chris joins him, both of them realizing the complete absurdity of the situation.

Headlights pass into the parking lot and the two scramble, pulling up their pants and trying to appear as natural as possible. The cab pulls up next to them just as Derek is wiping the cum off of his shirt with a couple of spare napkins he found in the SUV.

They climb into the backseat and Derek gives the cabbie his address. As the car pulls out into the street, Chris quietly clears his throat.

“Thank you,” he says as he looks out the window, his voice nearly inaudible.

Derek just nods, and the two sit in silence for the rest of the ride home.


End file.
